My Homemade Mother's Day Gift

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Bedroom Banshee

It was the middle of the night.  A storm was raging outside.  The lightening was flashing on the curtains, thunder was rattling the windows and the wind howled eerily.  Everyone had long since retired for the night when my youngest son padded into the room in his yellow blanket footed sleeper, carrying his doll and sucking on his pacifier.  He reached his little chubby hand up over the side of the bed and patted my husband on his cheek. 

"Daddy!"  he said in an alarmed voice.  "I'm scared."

Imagining it was a ploy to avoid sleeping in his own bed, my husband told him there was nothing to be afraid of, picked him up and explained that storms were just a part of nature.  He held him a few moments to comfort him and then sent him back to bed.

"He could get in bed with us." I said sleepily.

"No, I don't want to start that again." He said, as we respectively recalled the last time he  had slept with us.  He spun around all night like a compass in the Bermuda Triangle.  And then there was all the kicking, scratching, and thrashing about as we both struggled just to stay on the bed.

We were just getting back to sleep when I heard, smack, smack, smack. SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.
"Daddy!" the lightning flashed and I could see his big eyes widen in fright as he spoke around the pacifier in garbled words, "Daddy, I'm really scared," he mouthed around his pacifier.

My husband groaned.  "I'll get him," I said.

"No!" he said a little too firm.  "Sam, Son, what is it you're afraid of?"

"I hear noises." 

My husband sat up and explained about thunder and lightening, ionization, electricity, the necessity of rain, the protection of God and anything else he could think of that would appease a frightened little boy during a thunder storm.  "Now Sam," he said, "you go on back to bed.  There is nothing to be afraid of.  I'm right next door.  Nothing can get to your room without coming past mine."

Sam wiggled out of his daddy's arms, holding his doll, sucking rather noisily on his pacifier and padded bravely off back to bed… with the renewed confidence of his Father's assurance of protection and vigilant attendance to the least offense.

Five minutes later Sam came running into the bedroom, this time the pacifier was yanked out of his mouth with a loud pop and the doll had been dropped to the floor along the way and left to its fate.  "DAD!!!  MY BED IS SCARING ME.l"

My husband's patience was nearly at an end.  "Sam!  There is NOTHING to be afraid of.  He stood up, yanked Sammy up impatiently and they headed off down the hall.  About 15 seconds later, as curiosity got the better of me, I got up in time to see both of them backing back away from the bedroom into the hall.  My husband, a little disconcerted, looked over his shoulder and said quietly to me, "come here"

He, Sam and I crept back down the hall. By now the twins had gotten up to see what the commotion was.  

As I reached the room, Sam, feeling far braver with his whole family behind him, led the way saying, "See, see." Sure enough, the bed was literally floating around the room and dreadful howls were emanating from it.  It was like something from the Amityville Horror movie.  We all huddled together in the doorway,  staring at the aberration while I fought the urge to imagine Sam's head twisting around 360° and heaving projectile vomit.

Sammy, pointed at the bed with his chubby little finger and said wetly from the sides of his reinstated Binky,

"See." Steve picked him up to keep him back from the floating bed.

My elder son, pushed past us unnoticed, intrigued by the anomaly.  He knelt down, peering under the bed, hoping to catch a glance at the howling banshee levitating the bed.

"Dad, LOOK"

My husband realizing Danny was in the room quickly handed off Sam to me and bolted in the room to yank him up and out but as he knelt down, he began to laugh.

Our old border collie had become frightened by the storm and had wedged himself under Sam's bed but when he discovered he was unable to get back out again, he began to howl.  Unable to crawl out from under the bed, he kept trying to stand up.

Sensing the hope of immediate rescue, his moaning stopped and the bed settled back down.  My husband lifted the bed, the dog waddled out, glaring at the incompetent oafs that were supposed to take care of him as we leaned on each other laughing until we were too weak to stand any longer and finally retreated to our respective beds.